


lost in the current like a priceless wine

by partialconstellations



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Baby Robb Stark, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Lactation Kink, Loss of Virginity, Past Brandon Stark/Catelyn Tully Stark - Freeform, Porn with Feelings, Title Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, the inherent eroticism of being co-regents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28392255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partialconstellations/pseuds/partialconstellations
Summary: It is wrong, to have such thoughts about his brother’s widow, the mother of his nephew, but she is intelligent, quick-witted, and he has no doubt that he would be lost without her. He questions every decision he makes, feels it is not his place, feels he is stealing what is Brandon’s by right. He cannot steal his brother’s wife, too.And so, he admires her from afar, yearns for her, imagines it is her hands on his cock at night. Tries to hide his growing infatuation with her. Pretends that raising her son as he would his own is enough.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	lost in the current like a priceless wine

**Author's Note:**

> this got way too long, but here we finally fucking are. I am way too invested in this silly little verse, don't @ me.  
> thank you to procellous for betaing this monster and general hand-holding. any mistakes that remain are my own.

Exhaustion lines Lady Catelyn’s face when Ned calls for a break in the court proceedings.

“The Lord of Winterfell needs his nap. Any further concerns will be addressed by myself and Lady Catelyn after we take a short break.” After he’s dismissed the petitioners, Ned takes little Robb from Catelyn’s knee. She thankfully smiles up at him and takes a moment to compose herself before she gathers her skirts and rises from the lord’s chair Ned’s father used to sit in to follow them out of the hall.

Anyone with a working set of eyes will have noticed that little Robb needs no such thing as a nap. His nephew is a bubbly boy, and he behaves perfectly when he is trotted out for occasions like this, when it is felt that the presence of the Lord of Winterfell is needed. As if anyone were under any illusion that a boy who hasn’t even seen his second year would be making any decisions. But the smallfolk seem to like seeing their little lord, and it is a small thing to give them the pleasure. Even if it means that Robb is sometimes torn away from playing with his cousin for a short while.

Carrying him in one arm, the thumb of his other hand firmly caught between Robb’s baby teeth, Ned slows down once they’ve reached the corridor leading to the playroom, where Jon has been left in the care of his wetnurse and Old Nan.

It’s quite something, to think that the little boy in his arms has the same authority as his own father once had. The authority Brandon should have had, if the world were a better place. If these accursed Kingdoms weren’t ruled by madmen.

Robb’s little fist hits Ned square in the jaw and Cat musters a quiet, tired laugh. The bags under her eyes have grown bigger and darker, casting her face in shadows. Ned wonders, not for the first time, if her decision to not have a wetnurse for Robb is the right one. He understands that she is protective of him, guards him jealously, the one thing she has left of her husband. It must be a terrible thing, to be widowed so young, to be in her late husband’s castle, without ever knowing his presence here. Without ever knowing _him_ , not really, not with their marriage barely lasting a moon’s turn before Brandon was murdered. If only she understood that Robb is the only thing _he_ has left of Brandon, too. He would happily ease her burden.

She is radiant, even like this, working on too little sleep. It is wrong, to have such thoughts about his brother’s widow, the mother of his nephew, but she is intelligent, quick-witted, and he has no doubt that he would be lost without her. Despite her not being used to the rough ways to the Northmen, she has adapted quite well to ruling them. Despite being raised to rule a Southron castle, she knows how to talk to his people, great and small, to make them feel heard. Much better than he does. He questions every decision he makes, feels it is not his place, feels he is stealing what is Brandon’s by right. He cannot steal his brother’s wife, too.

And so, he admires her from afar, yearns for her, imagines it is her hands on his cock at night. Tries to hide his growing infatuation with her. Pretends that raising her son as he would his own is enough.

* * *

It happened slowly, without her even noticing until it was too late by far. She’d fallen for her late husband’s younger brother.

When Ned returned home to Winterfell, he found Cat and her infant son waiting for him. The little Lord of Winterfell was asleep against her breast, fallen into an easy, deep sleep after his meal. To think that she had almost greeted Brandon’s brother with one tit out.

Her goodbrother didn’t come, as Cat feared, with an army of angry Northmen at his back, to challenge his nephew’s claim, born by a foreign stranger. No, he came with a little boy of his own, so much more his—and Brandon’s—image than Robb ever could be. Unquestionably a Stark, despite his name. Ned didn’t send her away, to mould Robb in his own image, or to replace him and become the true Lord of Winterfell, with his own son in line after him. He could have Robb declared a bastard, could have claimed that the boy had nothing of the North in him. He could have done any of these things, easily, but he hadn’t.

Instead, he asked her to share the duties of being Robb’s regent with him. Cat agreed, happily, and she had to admit that they made a good pair, their skills matched evenly. In a way, they were both outsiders; her, to the harsh North and him, just returned home after years spent in the Vale. Ned, like her, had to earn the Northmen’s respect—a second son, regent for his infant nephew. And even though Ned claimed not to know the first thing about ruling, he proved able at it. He left many decisions to Cat in the early days and asked her for advice many times, asked her to teach him the lessons her own father had taught her before Edmure was born (and lived).

The lines between late nights talking through administrative problems together and late nights just keeping each other company blurred. Cat enjoyed both, in their own way. She liked the challenge a problem Ned set before her posed, but she also liked listening to the fire crackle while they quietly worked away at their own projects. She even taught him a few simple stitches, since his own education was sorely lacking in this part. These Northerners not teaching their sons how to sew and mend their own clothing was an oversight she would correct.

And yet. Cat couldn’t quite let her guard down around Ned, not when it came to her little boy’s safety. When Ned arrived, she moved Robb’s crib out of the nursery and into her own chambers and that was where it stayed. It led to many sleepless nights, many nights that she could have slept through if she’d employed a nurse for him, but the thought of letting anyone get too close to her little boy was terrifying. The fewer people were involved with his care, the fewer people were in the position to end his short life with a pillow.

* * *

Cat is shaken awake quite rudely, with Ned yelling over her. “What are you doing in my chambers, my lord?” Cat asks, blinking into the light of the candle he is holding above her. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with one hand, she reaches for her son with the other. She finds his little head burrowed somewhere underneath the furs. By sheer force of habit, she holds the back of her hand in front of his little face. Yes, he is breathing and sleeping soundly.

Having assured herself of her son’s well-being, she looks up at Ned, who is striding up and down the length of her bed, her chambers, lighting candles in the process. “Robb! He’s not in his crib!” He steps close to her, reaching out, as though he is tempted to shake her again.

“Well, no, he’s here, with me,” Cat replies, quite sensibly, she thinks, for that he is in her chambers at night. Suddenly acutely aware of her state of undress, she pulls her nightgown closed at her neck. Only by now Robb has been woken by the commotion and has started squawking like an upset little bird. Digging him out of his nest within her furs, she pulls him close to her, pressing him against the skin of her breast, she tucks his head under her nightgown, to calm him back to sleep. Focusing back on Ned, she musters what conscious thought she can. “I repeat. Why are you in my chambers, my lord? It is the middle of the night. The entire castle is sound asleep.”

“Well.” Ned halts, seeming unsure now that the immediate danger has passed. “I thought I could take him for the night.”

“So you thought you would steal into my chambers at night like … like an _assassin_ and steal him?” Her voice rises to a pitch she didn’t know it could reach.

Dragging his hands over his face, he answers, voice muffled by his hand. “Not _steal_ him. You’re always so protective of him, you would have never allowed me to take him if I’d asked. And, please don’t take this the wrong way, my lady, but you looked like you could use the sleep.”

Cat sighs. Darling Ned. Of course he would rather steal into her chambers at night than talk to her. And he’s right, of course. She would have thanked him and declined, politely but firmly. She doesn’t think he deserves her mistrust, but can she risk it? Her stupid infatuation with him could be clouding her judgement. And is the fleeting chance of affection worth her baby boy’s life?

Ned has every reason to want to see little Robb dead and claim the lordship for himself. Men have committed murder for less. And yet.

“Lady Catelyn?” His voice is quiet.

She looks up into his long, serious face. This is not the face of a child killer, she thinks. His actions over the past year are not the actions of someone who would murder his nephew in his sleep. “I apologise, my lord, I was … lost in thought. Considering a few things.”

“Would you let me take him?” He kneels and reaches out for Robb, touches the top of his head, and only when his hand brushes her naked breast, does he become aware of the inappropriateness of this situation. Him, alone in the chambers of his goodsister, her almost naked.

“No,” she replies curtly.

“I apologise, my lady. I know this is inappropriate, I didn’t mean to touch you like that—” His darling face is almost as red as the tuft of hair on Robb’s head. Robb, of course, senses his agitation and balls his hand into a little fist against her breast. His breathing, which had just begun to calm down, is becoming quicker, and she just knows that if Ned doesn’t calm down soon, there will be no getting Robb back to sleep.

“Shh, I’m trying to get him back to sleep, stop upsetting him.” Rustling Robb to touch more of her skin, she pulls him in closer.

“I—I think I really should go.”

“No, you shouldn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong, my lord.”

“I am _in your chambers_ , my lady. At night.” His agitation really isn’t helping, especially since she’s now concentrating on getting _him_ to calm down more than she is on Robb.

“I am quite aware, thank you.”

“People will _talk_.” The stubborn set of his jaw reminds her of the way Brandon had looked at her, when she begged him not to leave. Him and Lord Rickard had left for King’s Landing to demand justice from King Aerys before dawn the next morning. Better to swallow that memory down.

“What would they talk about? We are not doing anything … untoward,” she replies, again, quite sensibly. “Look, he’s fallen back asleep.” She carefully moves Robb again, trying not to jostle him too much, to show Ned his sleeping face. “Would you do me a favour and put him in his crib?”

“Of course, my lady.” Standing, he takes Robb and, after fussing at him for a moment, puts him down into his crib, gently, so gently, and pulls the bundle of blanket and furs over him. She could cry at the sight of Ned, bent over the crib, to tuck her son in oh so carefully, so that none of his little limbs are exposed to the night air. Even though she keeps her chambers warm, Ned worries, and she feels her heart heat up at the sight of him kissing Robb’s little forehead. To make matters worse, she feels it pool between her legs as well. It’s just a little twinge, oh, but it’s there. Feeling her cheeks and ears warm, she gathers the neck of her nightgown and pulls it closed, keeping her hand at her neck.

How silly, to feel arousal at the sight of a man who is not her husband tucking her baby in to sleep.

But it isn’t just that, is it. “Ned,” she calls, before she can think better of it, before she can stop herself.

He turns. Half his face is lost in shadows, and he looks so much like Brandon on her wedding night that she wants to curse herself. But it isn’t their physical similarities, she scolds herself. She doesn’t like Ned for his looks; he is rather plain, in truth. He lacks the natural confidence with which Brandon carried himself and acted. Something she didn’t quite like when they met, if the gods will forgive her for such a thought. She likes Ned for the way he treats her, talks to her, and, more importantly, for the fact that he _listens_ to her and values her opinion. That he cares for her son only makes him more dangerous.

Curse it. Curse _him_.

“Come over here,” Cat says, letting her nightgown fall open. Ned’s mouth opens, lips forming a shocked little _o_.

“ _Lady Catelyn_.” His voice cracks on the last syllable. It seems that he, too, has imagined this, or at least a version of it. At least she isn’t the only silly one in this room. To think that the toddler would be the most sensible person present …

Tucking her pointer finger into the laces of her nightgown, she pulls it open further. “Now that you have taken my son away, my bed lacks the presence of a man, my lord.”

His face is flushed furiously, red darkening his cheeks further. “I would not dishonour you so, my lady.” He is protesting, but he steps closer, into the pool of candlelight by her bed.

“Would you rather I take someone else to bed? Or would you rather it remain cold for the rest of my days? I am young still, and I have needs, and desires. And I desire you. My lord.”

Where is this boldness coming from? Her father has raised her to be a good, honourable woman; a woman who would not debase herself like this, a woman who is true to her husband. But well, her husband has been down in the crypts for much longer than they had been married. And Ned would never dream of marrying her off to someone else. Her father would have, if she had returned home. She is still the best match for any of her father’s bannermen or their sons. She probably would already be carrying her next child.

In a way, she is lucky to be here, in the cold harsh North, with her son and a man who respects her, using the skills she has been taught to rule a kingdom. Even if that man isn’t her husband.

“My lady?” Ned ventures carefully. His voice is hushed, so as not to wake the baby, she is sure. The colour in his cheeks rises more, seems to burn him, almost. His tongue darts forth, licking his lips. It is mesmerising.

“Do I have to repeat myself? I thought I was being quite clear. Come here, my lord, and touch me.” Ned looks as though he is rooted to the spot next to Robb’s crib, his hand still resting on the lattice framing the crib. This wouldn’t do. Instead of waiting for him to finally make his decision, Cat gathers the hem of her nightgown and scoops it up, revealing her legs to the night air.

“I’d rather not have to see to my own satisfaction tonight.” Parting her legs, she begins touching herself. His eyes follow her hands’ movements. By the time she is caressing the insides of her thighs, Ned’s cheeks must be positively burning. Good. Finally, she dips a finger between her nether lips. “But if you won’t grant a lady’s request, it seems I must.” She isn’t wet enough to do this, not yet, so it isn’t nearly as pleasurable as when she usually does this, when Robb is fast asleep, but it does have the intended effect of getting Ned to move.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Ned says, before he closes the distance between them with a large step. The mattress dips as he places his knee on it to bend over and kiss her. It’s a quick thing, gone almost as soon as their lips meet. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he repeats, but immediately, he comes back for more. It seems she isn’t the only one who has been craving this. When he tries to pull back again, Cat firmly pulls him back in, putting her hand to the back of his neck to keep him from moving.

His lips are almost too soft, much softer than she expected them to be. Cat pulls him in closer, doesn’t want to lose the heat, the feel of his body against hers, even if his kiss makes it clear that he hasn’t done this often, if at all. Another welcome difference to Brandon. Their mouths don’t fit as well against each other as they should, but they will have plenty of time to practice, to get to know each other. Cat doesn’t want to be alone anymore, doesn’t want a toddler to be the only one warming her bed any longer, not now, not now that she has reawakened this part of herself.

“May I?” he asks, voice rough and quiet, an uncertain hand hovering over her chest. Cat nods, kisses the tip of his nose. “Yes,” she breathes, and when his hand doesn’t move, she takes it in hers and lays it upon her breast herself.

Ned’s touch is careful, soft, even with the rough callouses on his fingers. They’re a warrior’s callouses, she reminds herself, for all that he is only a little older than herself. She likes watching him practice with the men-at-arms, even if he doesn’t do it nearly enough as she wishes he would.

“You may touch them more firmly, I won’t break,” she promises, smiling at him. Brandon had been so forward, not a care in the world. She wonders, if she had shared her first time with Ned … would it have hurt less? Brandon had tried to be careful when he took her maidenhead, but he had also been in his cups, and impatient.

“But.” He hesitates, red colouring his cheeks again. “Won’t. Well,” he gestures towards her breast, then the crib. “The milk.”

“If some spills, that is only part of life,” she assures him. “Please, I would have you touch me. I would have you inside of me. It has been too long.” He still looks unsure. “ _Please_.”

At once, Ned pulls back, curse him. “I can’t,” he says, regret colouring his words, despite his firm tone. “It is improper. You are … I cannot. I will not dishonour you.”

“Nobody has to know.”

“You are my brother’s widow. My nephew’s mother,” he replies, his head indicating the crib, as though she could that easily forget Robb’s presence, when her entire life revolves around the boy.

“We have lived as husband and wife in all other ways, my lord, why not this, too?” Her breasts feel too heavy, almost sore, and her pearl is pulsing with desire and frustration. She wants, she _needs_ to be touched. Needs his hands on her immediately. Needs to feel wanted. No, _desired_.

“We have not.” But there is doubt in his words. He sounds less reassured, like he doesn’t believe his words, like he is only saying them because he believes he must. Foolish, honourable Ned. He should have been her husband.

“We are raising our sons together. You are raising Robb as you would your own. We settle disputes together, the smallfolks’ and the vassal lords’ alike, we consult the other on the estate’s affairs. I look after the castle and you after the people. In truth, we share more equally in our duties than many married couples do.”

Ned’s flush deepens, but he is avoiding her eyes. He’s staring at a spot to her left as he answers. “Then I would make it a marriage in truth, if you would have me.” And then his eyes are on her, his cheeks still the deep, dark colour of his flush, but his gaze is earnest.

Oh.

_Oh._

It is her turn to flush, pink rising in her cheeks. “Would you have me like I am?” she asks, indicating Robb’s crib, knowing it is silly. He, above all others, knows what courting her entails. That she is not only a high lord’s daughter, a woman ruling a castle, but a mother. But he knows, and still, he would ask to marry her. He would never dare to presume under other circumstances, still thinking of himself as the spare to Brandon’s heir, while she is still a valuable match. And yet, here she is, throwing himself at him like a shameless whore.

“Catelyn,” he says, savouring the sound of her name without the title preceding it. “I would have you in no other way.”

“Then take me now, as your wife.”

Again, he pulls back, putting his face out of the candle’s light. “I would marry you first. Do it properly.”

She catches his hand before he can stand and put himself out of her reach. “What difference does it make? Would you leave me like this, ready and wet for you? Would you leave me like this, feeling wanton and desperate?” She spreads her legs and touches a finger between her nether lips, and with a flush so deep it travels below his neck, he looks upon the treasure between her legs. “It is no way to treat a lady,” she adds, caressing herself.

“That seems improper as well,” he agrees and touches his mouth to hers, and now, there is neither hesitation nor doubt as his hands find their way to her breasts, cradling them, callouses against tender skin, and _oh_ , she might just about burst.

“Touch me, my lord,” she asks again.

His hands immediately become less sure. “But I _am_ touching you, my lady,” he protests quietly. Curse him. Still too noble for his own good. _Hers_ , really. Or maybe he is toying with her now, aware of how desperate she is. That will not do either.

“Let me demonstrate,” Cat says, twining their hands together and slowly, oh so slowly, she pulls his hand down between their bodies, and then she’s pushing his pointer finger between her legs. “Can you feel that? How wet I’ve grown? That is all your fault for keeping me waiting like this.” Deep, deep inside of her, she pushes him, and it feels so good— _right—_ his finger buried inside of her alongside her own.

“I—” His tongue darts forth between his lips, licking them, buying himself time. He seems to settle on manners. “I apologise, my lady. That was not my intention.”

“Then make up for it.” His finger twitches inside of her alongside hers. Involuntarily, she bucks against his hand, rubbing her pearl against the palm of his hand, longing for more.

“I—” He swallows, sounding and looking his age. Unsure.

“Go on,” she whispers against his lips. “Use your fingers.”

“Is this—does this feel good?” he asks, experimentally pressing his finger further.

Cat moans and, withdrawing her hand, she leaves him to his own devices, but he’s a quick study. Where her finger leaves, he quickly presses in a second and third of his own. Taking his face into her hands, she kisses him again, and again, as she presses herself against him, seeks further contact. That she’s still wearing her nightgown, and that he’s still fully clothed, becomes an afterthought to the wave of pleasure that washes over her as he uses his palm against her groin, rubbing her much as she would herself.

His other hand is still on her breast, resting there like an afterthought, and, well, that won’t do—but she is distracted by his breath on the nape of her neck and then her ear, as he whispers, “like that?”

It’s almost comical how earnest he sounds. If she felt cruel, she’d poke a little fun at him but instead, she nods. “Yes, just like that. And while your mouth is there, you might as well do something with it.”

He pulls back, question writ clear as day on his face. Even if his fingers don’t leave her, they pull back just enough that she feels empty. She chases them with a whine. “I never thought you were cruel, my lord,” she pouts at him, and gently bites the lobe of his ear.

“Oh,” he manages to get out before words are replaced by a groan. At least she has the same effect on him that he has on her. It is a small mercy.

“Exactly, darling,” she says, before she bears down on his fingers again. “It is quite, _quite_ cruel of you to have deprived me of this for such a long time, my lord.”

His fingers are moving again and, resting his forehead against hers, he enters her further, a little too much. With a gasp, she tries to pull back, but Ned, sensing her discomfort, has already withdrawn. Before he can start apologising, Cat silences him with a kiss. “It’s alright. You don’t have to try to go as deep as you can. In truth, pleasuring me here,” she puts his hand back to her pearl, using his finger to circle it, the way she enjoys it, “is much more effective. But don’t apply too much pressure, it is very sensitive.”

Having turned an impressive dark shade, he ducks his head as he tries to copy her motions. “Like this?” he asks, pressing down and stroking carefully.

“Yes, you’re doing fantastically,” Catelyn praises him, and without giving much thought to where Ned’s head is, pulls him in closer. Her leg is curled around his—still clad—rear and she will have to do something about that soon, but her arm is around his head, and she presses him down against and perhaps even between her breasts. It seems like there are far too many limbs involved now.

“Lady Cat—” he starts to protest but he is cut off by Catelyn’s own, deep moan, as she chases the sensation he has just managed to bring out. His hair and nose pressing into her all too sensitive breast, combined with his ministrations against her pearl, well—

His tongue darts out against her tit, and then her nipple to where Robb latches on to feed and she is surprised by how pleasurable the sensation is in such a different context, with someone who is careful and eager to please instead of hungry and teething. A warm wave of pleasure washes over her, slow and warm and rolling, not with a quick, hot high, not at all like when she is pleasuring herself, but much, much better.

“My lady?” Ned’s face comes up while she is still shuddering with her peak. He’s got a bit of wetness still on the corner of his mouth. “Are you alright? Did—did I overstep?”

“I feel amazing, you wonderful, darling man.” She can feel delight bubbling within her. “And you didn’t even use your mouth!”

“Well.” Ned lowers his head in shame again, only to realise that he is now between her breasts yet again, because, as he looks up at her, he seems to be burning up again. “I did, though.”

“Not down here,” she presses against his fingers again. “I am told it is very pleasurable.”

“Well,” he says slowly, tracing his fingers around her pearl before withdrawing entirely. “I suppose I could try.”

“I fear it might be a little much for the moment, but I will take you up on the offer in future.” She places a kiss on his forehead. “Perhaps once we are wed. Now come here for a moment.” Ned crawls into bed beside her, ignoring her open arms, and as she tries to find a comfortable spot to nestle into, she again notices the detestable presence of clothing. “There are a number of things we could do. I could take care of you like you did for me.” She wiggles her fingers at him. “But I wouldn’t object to having you inside of me, my lord.”

“Has anybody ever told you you’re terrifying, my lady?” Ned asks, with an uncomfortable smile. “But that is not necessary.”

“Once or twice,” she confirms. “We’ve come this far, surely a little more can’t hurt.”

He looks like he is about to protest but is quickly silenced by a glare. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” With a smirk, she sits up and scrutinises him. He looks good in her bed, amidst her pillows and furs. It’s a shame he must have put on trousers for the short walk from his chambers to her own. A nightshirt would have been much easier to navigate. After a moment of fumbling beneath the hem of his shirt, her fingers find the drawstrings of his trousers, and _oh._ He is a sight to behold. His cock is not limp between his legs as she’d feared, with how careful and shy he’d been, but she needn’t have worried. No, it springs forth confident and eager, glistening at the tip.

“This looks promising,” Cat says, giving his cock a careful tug. But despite everything they’ve done, how eager Cat has shown herself to be— _shameless_ , a voice at the back of her mind worries at her—Ned makes no move to do something.

(“Jon is my bastard,” she remembers him saying, eyes lowered to the ground, the first evening they’d sat down together. She hadn’t believed him then, either. She believes him even less now.)

Well, she will just have to take matters into her own hands, so to speak. “Would you like me to guide you, my lord?”

He swallows. He looks almost sheepish as he replies, “If you would, my lady.”

“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” she says, and tugs at his shirt. “Remove your trousers, please. And this nightshirt, while you’re at it. My chambers are plenty warm.”

“That is true,” he agrees. “They’re sweltering. One might almost think you have done this on purpose to get me naked.” The blush returns as soon as he realises what he’s said. She will have to do something with this, in future encounters. It is too delicious not to use the moments when his unconscious brazenness wins against his shyness for her own purposes.

“Maybe that _has_ been my plan all along,” she smiles at him, and, when he’s finally gotten rid of those damnable clothes, she pulls him back down, and quickly turns them around to push him into her pillows and crawl on top of him. Having him trapped under her, between her legs is a pleasure all its own. “I’ve wanted you in my bed for quite a long time, Ned.”

She can see him swallow, even half-hidden by the shadows that the flickering candlelight is casting on his face. “I am going to sink down on your manhood,” she tells him quietly, watching with glee as his expression changes, not quite being able to hide his excitement behind his usual propriety, “and then I’m going to ride you.”

“ _Please_.” His voice is little more than a low whine. So she does, and gods, does it feel good, to be wet and already sated when a man enters her.

Watching his face as she’s shifting experimentally on top of him is a joy. Ned is trying to hide his pleasure at the feeling of being engulfed by her, so Cat leans forward, to brush his mouth with hers. “None of that now, I want to see you. I want to see how much you enjoy yourself.” She quirks her lips against his as she considers. “My lord.”

Ned bucks up into her at the use of his title, confirming her suspicions. “You like that, don’t you? All this time, hiding behind decorum.” Moving her hips, just a little, just enough to tease, she continues, “Tell me, have you taken yourself in hand while you were alone in your chambers, thinking of this?”

“N-no,” he replies, flushing deeply, still trying to keep still below her.

Cat taps thoughtfully against his chest. “Remember, it’s impolite to lie to your lady.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes out, bucking up into her, “yes, I have. I’ve wanted you. Wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Sitting back up, she smirks down at him. “I don’t think that’s quite true, but I appreciate the sentiment. Now, come up here. I want you deep, deep inside of me.”

“I thought you said I didn’t have to go quite so deep,” he protests, even as he’s following her order, moving inside of her as they shift, slot into each other like they were meant to. Crossing her legs behind his back pulls him further inside of her, making her feel full like she never has before.

“Would you like to feel something good, too?” she smirks.

“Better than this?” He sounds doubtful. “I doubt that is possible, Lady Catelyn.”

“If you don’t like it, tell me, and I’ll stop.” And with that, she slides a finger alongside his cock, to coat it in her own slick and then reaches around him, follows the cleft of his arse down. Carefully touching her finger to the ring of muscles in his rump, Catelyn starts to breach him, listening for any noises of discomfort Ned might make. Instead, she is rewarded with a deep sigh, a barely audible “gods” as the muscles give way. Ned’s head lowers against her neck, and with a low “oh,” she breaches him fully.

She can feel his cock twitch inside of her in reaction to what she is doing to him, and while the angle perhaps isn’t the best, she still enjoys the little noises he’s making, the way his breath hitches as she gently moves her finger inside of him, while still moving her hips on top of him herself. He, too, comes slowly, without even trying to pull out, like he is as surprised by his peak as she was with hers earlier.

It takes him a moment to react, looks to be too overwhelmed with pleasure, but then his expression turns to horrified panic. “I shouldn’t have—maybe it’s not too late if you move?”

“Darling Ned,” is all the reply she can muster, kissing the tip of his nose. “It’s alright. Your seed won’t take root; I’m still nursing after all.”

The concern on his face mellows out, much the same way his cock softens inside of her. “Alright,” he concedes, trusting that her knowledge in these matters is better than his. “We’ll still have to move.”

“Just a moment longer,” she pleads, though, of course, he is right. “I take it you enjoyed this, then?” With a little twist, she withdraws her finger from him.

“You are cruel, my lady,” he gasps.

“Perhaps. Though you are crueller still for leaving me wanting for this long.” Her cunt and thighs feel sticky as she untangles herself from Ned and rolls over, back into the depths of her furs. They really _should_ clean up, she thinks, but then Ned leans back into the pillows as well, brushes his fingers against her cheek and then moves closer still.

He’s still caressing her cheek when he replies, “I apologise. I won’t do it again,” and then, finally, carefully touches his lips to hers.

“Mhhh,” she mumbles against his mouth and only notices that he’s drawn blankets and furs above them when the light changes and an arm curls around her and pulls her closer. He’s going to leave for his own chambers soon, to preserve what little modesty they might have left, but until then, she’s enjoying being burrowed into her furs with him.

“You never answered my question,” he says quietly, taking her hand when she’s already halfway to sleep. “Would you be my wife in truth?”

“I thought I did,” she mumbles. His hands are nice, carefully touching her as if she might break, even after what they’ve just done.

She imagines he’s smiling at her. “No, you just pulled me into your bed.” It sounds like he is. “Will you marry me, Lady Catelyn? I have no lands to give you. No title that you don’t already possess.”

“Marry you in the eyes of your bannermen? And your gods?” She has never seen herself getting wed in a godswood, but well, she hasn’t exactly seen _this_ , either.

“Robb’s bannermen,” he emphasises. “But in the eyes of my gods. As well as yours,” he replies softly, still playing with her hand. “I would build you a sept, my lady. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your little altar in the corner. You deserve more.”

“You’ll have to ask the Lord of Winterfell for his permission to build a sept, you know. You can’t just promise things that aren’t yours to finance.”

“I’ve got it on good authority that he won’t object. I’m on very good terms with him. And his mother.”

Dearest, darling Ned. “In that case, I accept.” Perhaps she should ask her father’s permission; her hand is still a boon, but she will not be a pawn any longer. She will stay at her son’s side for as long as the little Lord of Winterfell would have her. And if that means she will stay at her new husband’s side, that is just as well.

“Do you think Robb and Jon would like some siblings, so they’d be brothers in truth?” Ned asks, hand moving to her flat stomach. Cat guffaws, baffled that he’s still trying to uphold his lie in the face of everything.

“I just took your virtue, silly boy. I know Jon isn’t yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. the lactation kink we deserve, come at me germ  
> 2\. nursing is not a reliable way of birth control, which ned and cat will soon find out  
> 3\. title adapted from willow by taylor swift, bc it's been that kind of year
> 
> I'm also on tumblr @partialconstellations, come say hi, also leave a comment here why not. I'm too tired to do proper links, sorry.


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